Losing My Mind
by Lady Fael
Summary: “You’d have to be stupid to think that, given our history, I would ever, barring a piano or a safe falling on my head, wanna go anywhere with you, ever. So what happens when a safe hits Rory on the head and Tristan just happens to be there? [In progress]
1. Prologue: It's a Date

Losing My Mind

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Gilmore Girls…but think of the possibilities if I did…

**Setting: **A while after Rory makes her statement, "You'd have to be stupid to think that, given our history, I would ever, barring a piano or a safe falling on my head, wanna go anywhere with you, ever." The dance with Dean did happen, and Tristan did fight with him, but Louise's party did not happen, and neither did the piano bench kiss. Rory is dating Dean.

**A/N: **This idea just came to me randomly one day. Rory's claim of never going out with Tristan unless something hit her on the head inspired a very crazy idea, and I decided to go along with it. Don't take the whole story too seriously. Also, keep in mind that Rory isn't exactly herself in this fic, having had a heavy object hit her on the head…

-&-

"Oh, Rory, dear, are you alright?" Babette's raspy voice inquired as the plump, short woman in question came huffing and puffing down her porch stairs toward Rory, who was clutching her head in pain. "Don't think that we throw safes out of our window all the time, baby," Babette prattled on as she needlessly made a show of examining Rory all over for injury. "It's just that Morey had this old, rusting safe in the house, said it used to belong to his father, and we didn't know what to do with it, so we just…" Babette made a throwing motion with her arms, then dropped them to her broad sides, shaking her head. "Rory, dear, we didn't mean to hit you. It was too heavy to pull outside and we thought throwing it out the window onto the sidewalk was the best way…we thought maybe someone would see it and want it and take it…"

Abruptly, Babette changed the topic. "Did I tell you that our little ape-ricot is growing into the prettiest little kitty in the neighborhood? Just yesterday we noticed that she didn't fit into Morey's old boots anymore, which are her favorite place to hide. Morey and I, we were in tears. Oh, our little baby's growing up! Just like Cinnamon did…" Babette sniffled, and Rory seized the opportunity to get away.

"Uh, Babette, I think I'll be fine. It was just one of the corners of that safe that hit me and, look, it's not even bleeding. So now I really have to go, catch the bus, you know, for school. So, uh, bye…" Babette had her hands clasped together and tears in her eyes as she thought of her old cat, Cinnamon, and Rory's mishap with the old safe was forgotten. She nodded as Rory turned, a little woozily, to head toward the bus stop, not really noticing that Rory was leaving at all.

"Come back and see us soon, hon!" she called, suddenly jovial. "Oh, and sorry about the safe again, sweet! I hope you'll be alright, Rory!" Rory waved to her out of the ordinary neighbor and made her slightly unsteady way to the bus-stop, far from alright.

(…)

Opening her locker, Rory admitted to herself that she was feeling slightly light-headed, a little woozy. She shoved a few books into her backpack, not noticing that she'd packed the English, Science and Math books when the homework was on Africa, a subject they were studying in History. She groaned and absently rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand as, frowning, she stared at the locker door, trying to remember something she knew she'd forgotten. But what?

"Ah, there you are, Mary," a blond-haired, blue eyed boy greeted her with a friendly, teasing smirk on his handsome face. "Been looking for you all day. But you don't know or care about that, now do you?" He leaned in close, his breath on her face.

Rory frowned at him. Did she know this boy? She thought she faintly remembered him as being one of those handsome, cool, popular, rich boys that roamed the school, one of those that every girl would get down on her knees for. And he's paying attention to her? "My name's Rory," she told him as politely as she could, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

The handsome boy looked a little surprised, perhaps by her polite tone, but then quickly recovered. "Whatever you say, Mary," he teased, a smirk dancing on his face. He was teasing her, and she could see how it could get irritating. But who cared what he called her anyway? It didn't really matter if he called her "Hey you!" or "Mary". He was one of Those kids and she was…nothing.

He leaned in closer, and she almost pulled back, but something stopped her. _Hold on Rory, _she told herself. _One of Those kids, a popular, absolutely handsome boy, is very likely flirting with you! You do not pull back when that happens. _And so she stayed still. And that seemed to surprise the boy even more. But he recovered from that surprise just as smoothly as before and inched a little closer. "Um…" Rory began, a little uncomfortable. "Did you want something? It's just that I have to be home by…" she let her sentence trail off and saw how miserly it sounded.

"Oh, don't worry, Mary, you won't be home after curfew. I'll make it a point to get you there on time myself." He was flirting with her! He was really flirting with her! Rory was surprised. She didn't even know this boy, and he was being an outrageous flirt. She clutched her backpack tighter and blinked once, slightly confused but also undeniably pleased. This was her chance to be popular at the school! And she would finally have a boyfriend. Her first boyfriend. That was, assuming that would ask her out or something…

The boy brushed his lip against her cheek as though it were a perfectly normal thing to do and then stood back, nonchalant, hands in his pockets. He extracted a menu from his left-hand pocket and handed it to her. "It's called Maggie's and the food's really good. I got two because I thought that Cissy would be coming with me, but since we broke up, I thought maybe you and I could…" he let his sentence stay un-ended much as she had, and Rory saw through the whole Cissy thing easily. He'd got the menus, secured reservations, just recently, thinking of her. There had been no Cissy involved. It was easy to see. But then why did he look as though he thought she would refuse?

"Well, I would love to," Rory began, and as she did she watched, her own surprise growing, as shock transformed the boy's face. "But I don't even know your name. Oh, and mine's Rory, by the way. Not Mary. Maybe at the restaurant we can discuss how that confusion arose." The boy looked utterly amazed.

So amazed that he stuttered slightly. "Y-you'll g-go?" he asked, his face contorted with shock. "R-really?" And then he quickly recovered his cool and composed manner. "OK, sure, then. It's a date. So Friday after school I'll drive you there, 'kay? My name's Tristan, in case you somehow, miraculously, forgot it. Bye, Mary," he called, smirking again, though still seeming surprised by something.

_By what? It's me who should be surprised; Tristan, Tristan DuGrey who I've heard so much about, who is so handsome and popular and rich, has asked me out! And he's surprised? As though I would refuse! Yeah right. I would have said yes even if I'd already had a boyfriend. Which I don't of course. Lowly Rory Gilmore doesn't have boyfriends. But starting now…_Starting now…she was still Rory Gilmore, and yet she was changed. Because now she had a boyfriend, and he was one of the best-looking guys she'd ever seen.

Tristan, Tristan, Tristan DuGrey, Tristan, Tristan…echoed in her mind as she skipped to her bus, and Rory could hardly wait two whole days. She wanted Friday to be there that moment. _I think I'm love, _she told herself, grinning. Tristan, Tristan, Tristan DuGrey, Tristan, Tristan…

-&-

**A/N: **So? What did you guys think? Don't worry, I'm planning for the other chapters to be longer and in Rory's POV. This was kind of a prologue…Reviews are loved!


	2. Dean the Stalker

Losing My Mind

**A/N: **Oh, so many story alerts! And that's great. But wanna know what I really want? Some more reviews. Is that too much to ask for?

-&-

I skip home from the bus-stop, humming to myself a nonsensical tune I heard somewhere sometime long ago. When I'm in view of the house, I slow down to my normal brisk, purposeful walk, holding onto my backpack-strap tightly out of sheer happiness. Tristan, Tristan, Tristan DuGrey, Tristan, Tristan…

"Oh! Rory, dear, how're you? Alright? Good, good, I just thought maybe the little safe incident would come back up to haunt us. In fact, Morey and I-"

I interrupt Babette's ramblings. "What safe?" I ask, a little puzzled. I cock my head to one side and watch Babette's face sink into confusion not at all unlike my own.

"What safe?" Babette mutters, frowning. "Well, I thought I remembered that we accidentally threw a safe out of our window and it hit you on the…? No? Well, I'm sure your memory's fresher than mine! But I really thought that this morning a safe hit you…No? I suppose not then! I guess I'm losing my mind, huh, love?" Babette smiles weakly and walks back into her house while muttering something about old age.

I shake my head in amusement. Babette isn't _that _old but she really does seem to have some gaps in her memory. A safe? Falling on my head? I chuckle to myself at the absurdity of the thought while opening my door. But I chose the wrong key on the big loop, so I have to start all over with another key. When this one refuses to open the door, I choose another. But it happens again. And again. And again.

I finally end up throwing the ring of keys down in frustration. It looks as though I've lost the necessary one. Bother. Do I have to go all the way back to the school to retrieve it? My eyes light up; oh, but that's where Tristan is! Although, I scold myself not at all angrily, he's probably home by now. And then my scowl returns as I lean down to pick up the keys. Stupid missing key! Gr.

"Hey Rory. Did you drop this?" An unusually tall boy with floppy, dark-brown hair and big, brown, smiling eyes looks at me from where he's standing on the sidewalk outside my house. He's holding a silver key on the palm of his right hand and extending it towards me. He's not really handsome, but something tugs at the back of my mind. Do I know him? And what is that warmth spreading through me when I think of someone tall with floppy brown hair?

Mentally shrugging to myself, I conclude that I have no idea who this seemingly kind stranger is. I smile at him gratefully and descend the porch steps to take the key from his palm. As soon as I put my hand in his enormous one, he closes it, entrapping my hand in his. I gasp and try to pull away, confused. When I look up into his face, he's grinning.

_What? _I don't even know him and he's got my hand trapped in his. My cheeks burn as I think of what we must look like to anyone watching from the safety of their homes, ready to record this moment and gossip about it later. We look like a couple. Like boyfriend and girlfriend. But we're not! I don't know this aggravating boy.

"Um," I say intelligently, tugging weakly at my entrapped hand. "Would you mind letting go, please? I really need to get home. Homework, work, schoolwork…" I drift off, realizing how stupid I must sound and blush deeper. The boy just grins wider and holds onto my hand even tighter. Then, in one swift motion, he has my other hand in his and is kissing me.

The nerve! And I don't even know this creep. I pull away violently, tug at my hands – which come free at once through his evident surprise – and, key in hand, run to my door. I twist the silver key in the lock, throw open the front door, and prepare to step inside when the sound of his voice stops me.

"Rory! Did I do something wrong?" He sounds hurt, confused. Oh god. Today is one confusing day. Wait…how does he know my name? I slowly pivot on my right heel, turning to face him. He stands there blushing, hands hanging limply at his sides, looking devastated. "Do you not like it when I kiss you?"

All the sympathy I might have felt for him is gone and my face turns red. "Like it? Like it?! You're a total stranger! A nice one, maybe, but still a total stranger. You turn up outside my house, which I don't think is coincidence, mind you, handing me a key I lost. Which is very nice of you. But then you won't let me go, hold onto my hand like you know me, and then you _kiss me_! And you expect me to enjoy it? I have a boyfriend, and I like him very much, thank you! His name is Tristan and you can't compare! Now go away! Find someone else to stalk!" I slam the door, seething.

I drop onto the couch, exhausted, my head in my hands, my body shaking partly from fear of that boy, the one who had kissed me, and partly from anger at him. I lean against the soft pillows on the couch and groan. I never yell like that. It was a first. But I had a reason. The nerve of that creep. Turning up outside my house, pretending to be nice, and then kissing me in broad daylight.

That's when I realize that I called Tristan my boyfriend, and I blush. Isn't he, though? He only asked me out to dinner. But still…it's what I would like to believe. And it was something I had to say to keep that weirdo away from me. I don't regret it.

I hear a banging on my window and turn, frightened, to see the weirdo in question tapping on it. I turn red again and am about to yell at him when I see the shock on his face, the tears threatening to fall. What is with him? He's acting as though we're boyfriend and girlfriend and I just broke up with him when I don't even know his name!

I sigh and get up from the couch, clutching the pillow as though for protection. I open the window a crack, just enough to let sound filter in and out, and demand, "What do you want?" He looks taken aback, as though he expected me to have come to my senses and remembered who he was and how much I loved him. Well, I hadn't and I didn't, because I had never seen him before in my life.

"Rory, I'm _Dean_!" he tells me, as though that will somehow fix everything. "I'm Dean, your boyfriend, and I _thought _you…you loved me. It sure seemed like it up till now, that is. And even if you still hate me for some reason, at least tell me why! Because, frankly, I have no idea and am completely confused."

"Good to know I'm not the only one, then," I grumble at him, making as though to shut the window. Now he thinks I'm his girlfriend? What is wrong with everyone today? First Babette, and now this Dean. "Look, _Dean,_" I begin through gritted teeth. "I have no idea who you are. Wait, I do; you're some weirdo going around thinking that I'm your girlfriend when I keep telling you I've never seen you before _in my life_. There's something seriously wrong with your head, Dean. Either that or you're mistaking me for someone else. And even if you are my boyfriend – which you are not – I would break up with you right now; go get a haircut, buddy." And I slam the window shut, seething once again.

I do slightly regret my cruel words to him regarding his hair, but I try to think of it as some advice instead of a comment I threw out in anger. I pretend not to be looking as he stares into my living-room in more shock than before and then straightens his bent back and walks away. Finally! As I sink onto the couch once more I smile dreamily and let thoughts of Tristan fill my head.


	3. What Goes on in his Floppy Haired Head

Losing My Mind

**A/N: **To those of you who were wondering, (or were, perhaps, insulted) Dean isn't going to be continually abused in this story. In fact, I'm planning a fair ending for him too. And for those of you who hate Dean, content yourselves with my abuse of him in Chapter One. And this chapter is from Dean's POV by the way.

-&-

That girl wasn't Rory. It couldn't have been Rory. Because if it had been Rory, then…that hadn't been Rory. But it was, undeniably, Rory. She had even been wearing her silly, prissy Chilton outfit, but Rory, my Rory, never yelled or insulted like that. Therefore, it couldn't have been Rory. But it was Rory…

And I was back to the beginning. Sighing heavily, I shifted my position on the bed and fidgeted a bit before deciding there was no way I was ever going to get comfortable today and stood up, stretching out my stiff muscles. I had been lying on the bed for the past three hours reflecting on the girl who may or may not be my Rory, and I knew I should have gone to school, but how could I have after yesterday? After my Rory, beautiful Rory, yelled at me like that and acted so strangely. What had I done? What had been going through her mind?

I thumped back onto the bed and put my head in my hands, groaning aloud. It was all such a conundrum. Rory yelling at me, getting mad and embarrassed when I kissed her, which she used to love, and then telling me we had never been boyfriend and girlfriend. It was all just some big mistake, I tried to assure myself. But if it was, it sure was a _big _one.

So what would I do now? Sit around the house all day moping, sulking? Try to sift through the impossibility of yesterday's disastrous encounter with the love of my life? Sleep some more and have the weirdest dreams ever known to man? I decided to try option D; all of the above.

I collapsed back onto the bed, leaning against the soft-as-melting-butter pillows that seemed more like hard-as-stale-marshmallow pillows now. Was it just me or had they all of a sudden become less comfortable? More unwelcoming? But that was pure nonsense. It was just because I was feeling so uncomfortable, uneasy, miserable inside that I felt that way.

I began to go through the try-to-sift-through-the-impossibility-of-yesterday's-encounter-with-the-love-of-my-life stage as I stared up at my blank, unforgiving white ceiling in desperation. Nothing was solved because I couldn't think, so I started to mope. But I wasn't in the mood for moping or sulking so, sighing, I turned to face one of my equally blank white walls and tried to sink into sleep.

I thought I was actually getting somewhere when the doorbell rang, causing my heart to jump into my mouth, which is a pretty gross saying if you think about it. Could it be Rory? Could she have come to her senses or some such impossible thing and was she coming to apologize? I knew they were hopeless assumptions, but they drove me out of my bed and I got up to answer the door eagerly.

Tramping down the stairs, I finally realized the impossibility of the visitor being Rory. I wanted to go back up the stairs, crawl into the bed and maybe even have a good cry at the thought. But curiosity pushed me forward. Who could be at my door if it wasn't Rory? And besides, there was a _chance _that it was Rory, and if I didn't answer the door and seize that puny chance…

I reached the door and began to turn the knob as the ding of the doorbell echoed through the house and I gritted my teeth at the impatience of my visitor as the door swung open and I finally saw who it was.

A young girl, a little younger than Rory with light blond hair and pleasant, eager green eyes faced me. Her long hair was loose, falling down to her perfectly curved hips in ripples and reminded me of a water-fall. She had a red headband on her forehead keeping it out of her eyes. She was skinny and petite, reaching up to my shoulder, maybe, and her face was sweet, pretty, smiling. Her red lips were full, her nose small and her bright green eyes eternally eager. Her clothing – a green turtleneck sweater that made her eyes stand out all the more because of how incomparable it was and that matched her green shoes as well as a simple, long, loose red skirt – was modest and complimented her as well as making her look like she was getting ready for Christmas. In her arms she clutched a notebook and a pencil. I had no idea who she was/

"Hello! My name is Emma and I'm doing a survey for my school, Stars Hollow High, on how many young kids from the ages of 16-20 drive cars, and what those that don't do to get around. Would you mind answering a few questions for me?" Her voice is slightly chirpy, I observe, but pleasant and somehow lilting as well, going up and then coming down and then veering up again…Emma. A nice name. And she goes to my school.

"OK, sure," I find myself agreeing, though in my present, miserly state I would expect myself to say, "Sorry, no," and shut the door on her cute little nose. Why am I agreeing? I don't want human company right now. I want to sulk in peace, maybe fall asleep. I don't want to be with other people.

But maybe I want to be with Emma.

"Ooh, goody. You're the second person to agree," Emma informs me, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear distractedly and turning to her notebook, pencil in hand, tongue briefly swiping her lips as she thinks. I nearly chuckle at the motion, sure that it's probably a habit of hers when she's thinking to lick her lips first, as though her thoughts are so delicious she wants to eat them. Now her lower lip is pulled slightly inward, held by her teeth.

And then my mouth reacts before my brain and I find myself asking, surprising even myself, "Hey, Emma, do you want to go to Luke's or something to do this? Besides, there are some people there that you could ask and we could have coffee while I do the survey…I'll help you with it, asking people for you, that is, if you want. I go to Stars Hollow High too." I stand there shocked while Emma's green eyes dance and she nods her head vigorously.

"Oh, that would be so great! Would you really?" She tilts her head to one side as she looks at me, grinning, and her lovely hair falls with it. I swallow, released from my stupor, and nod that I really mean it, because I realize that I do.

We head for Luke's, not far from where I live, with Emma skipping in front of me while I walk, a little stiffly, behind her. We get to the Diner and plop ourselves down in a seat, sitting across from each other. I stare at her blankly for two seconds before my brain starts working again. "I'll go get us something. Anything particular you want?"

She looks thoughtful and licks her lips again, making me smile. I realize she probably doesn't even know she does that. "Well, I really don't like coffee. It's so bitter and so bad for you and so…_yuck._" She grimaces and my heart lurches. _Emma doesn't like coffee. _What a simple thing for your heart to lurch for. But then, if you add, _Rory and her mother adore coffee_, it makes more sense.

I'm so wrapped up in that stupid little thought that I don't hear what Emma's saying. The only thing I do hear is, "You know what I mean?" as she tilts her head to one side again, waiting for my answer. Oh no. What am I supposed to say to that, what can I say that won't make me look the fool?

I'm saved by Luke, who comes up to us with a menu in his hand. He looks solemn, but then again, he always does. "Welcome to Luke's Diner. Is there anything you'd like to eat or drink? We have coffee, water-"

"I'd like some mint tea, please," Emma tells him, almost bouncing in her seat, a grin on her face. "And do you have any lemon-cake? I'd like just a thin slice, please. And a few pieces of fresh, organic apples if you don't mind." Luke nods his assent and turns to me. I'm relieved that I don't have to puzzle out what she was saying before and present myself as an idiot before her.

"And you?" Luke asks dryly, consulting his little notepad to take my order. And then suddenly he looks up from the notepad and looks me over one more time, this time with interest. "Hey…aren't you Rory's boyfriend?" he asks me suspiciously, casting Emily a glance. I gulp, then, glancing at Emma myself and seeing her look of surprise, make my decision.

"Er, no, I'm not," I tell Luke, almost honest. He raises an eyebrow and clearly doesn't believe me.

"Er, yes you are," he informs me with his eyebrow still raised and a knowing look in his eyes. "You're the bag boy at Doose's, the one Lorelai pointed out to me, and you're going out with Rory."

My mind actually kicks in at this point. "You mean I _was _Rory's boyfriend and I _was _going out with her. _Was_. Am not anymore," I clarify, feeling proud of myself. And then I turn back to Emma. "So, you like fruits and tea? I do too! Coffee is just too thick for my taste…" And as I say that I feel that I'm really, truly, in earnest, discarding Rory, something I never thought I would do. I had gotten over her. And how easy, how satisfying, it was!


	4. The Almost Death

Losing My Mind

**A/N: **Oh, jeez, I realize this fourth chapter must have taken a ridiculously long, monotonous time to appear on the site. Sorry! I can't promise, but I'm pretty sure that the fifth one will be up within less than two weeks. What would you do with yourselves otherwise, right?

-&-

It's the next day, after school – which I decided to skip, for once, under pretense of being sick, which is partly true; sick from giddiness over the thought of going out with Tristan – and I'm trying on lots of different outfits in preparation for this evening. Lorelai still doesn't know anything about it, because she was over at Sookie's last night. I had pop-tarts for dinner, of course, so I was OK, and she knew it. She called me a thousand times anyway to make sure of it, but I could hear Sookie's giggles so I know she really had fun last night even though she worried about me so much. I'm planning on telling her the minute she gets home…

"Rory? Rory, I'm home! And I have…pizza! And more pop-tarts for the morning, too. Did you say you liked blueberry pop-tarts? Because I got cherry. I think blueberry pop-tarts are gross. But interesting. They're blue. Blue! A blue pop-tart! How unusual and fascinating is that? I think some scientists should research the miracle of blue pop-tarts and if the company that makes them uses plastic or…plastic to make them. Because, as fascinating as the color blue is on a pop-tart, it tastes like plastic painted blue. Not that I've ever tried that, but I have tried the equivalent, which is blue pop-tarts."

Mom's home! And what an entrance. I race down the stairs and present myself to her with arms spread out and a 'ta-da!' lingering on my lips, which are pulled up into a wide grin. "Ta-da!" I announce, almost letting out a giggle.

Mom drops the bag she was holding up, inside which are boxes and boxes of cherry pop-tarts, "In case we run out." Her mouth falls and her eyes quickly take in my appearance before she lets out a shriek. "Where did my Rory go!" she yells in mock horror, dropping to her knees as though begging me to return her daughter. "Who is this monster standing before me, pretending to me daughter, who is probably stuffed inside a black limousine's trunk amid tools used to perform this new Rory's evil deeds?"

I roll my eyes and hop down the final stairs, then morph into my serious mode. "So, watcha think? Pretty?" Lorelai raises one eyebrow and does several circles around me before nodding her head slowly.

"It needs a few adjustments…but otherwise it's pretty good. If I just snipped a little here and added some fabric right there…" She's holding up one of the sleeves with her head tilted to one side, her eyes that of a professional. Suddenly she looks up. "Wait…why the outfit? Is it your fifth month anniversary with Dean, or something? Or your 20th week anniversary with him? Ooh, I got it! It's you and Dean's fifth day observing Kirk making out in the movie theaters with his suspiciously acquired, gorgeous girlfriend Lulu and throwing pop-corn at them anniversary! Tell me I guessed it!" She pauses again, the eager expression on her face replaced with one of a concerned mother. "Why aren't you laughing. Did you break up?"

"Mom…" I whisper, my face utterly pale and my limbs shaking. "Did you say 'Dean'?" She nods slowly, a frown now pulling her lips downward.

"Did you break up, honey? Because you know what happened last time; you made up after you told him you loved him. I'm sure this is a trifle again, something that can be solved with a, 'Dean, Dean, please take me back, I _love _you!' speech adopted from Romeo and Juliet, which you have now memorized by heart after being forced by the frightening Paris to perform it with the very hot and yet supposedly 'annoying' Tristan." Lorelai is trying her hand at humor again, but she doesn't realize that she's only worrying me more.

"D-dean…" I mutter, ghostly pale now and stuttering. "Are you sure that you said 'Dean'? And not…'Lean' or 'Mean' or something? Are you sure, mom?" _Please say no, please say no, please say this was a joke and you and that creep are both in on it._

Her voice is soft, reassuring. "Rory, if you don't want me to say his name anymore, that's alright. But I just think that this can be easily resolved if you would only-"

"No!" I yell without meaning to. "No, no, no! That's not what I'm talking about! Please, just tell me if you were talking about a tall guy named Dean, with floppy brown hair and warm brown eyes…? And his voice is kind of like _this_?" I try to imitate his strange tones, my lips quivering with anticipation.

Slowly, Lorelai nods. "Honey," she tries again, genuinely worried.

"No, mom, you don't understand," I say desperately. "I…I said…I thought…I made a terrible mistake…I said he was…I said we were never…" Abruptly, I grab my jacket from a peg hanging on the wall to cover the ridiculously fancy outfit I'm wearing and sprint out the door, out onto the street. I run across several streets but my eyes are straight ahead and I don't care if I get hit by a car or not. I nearly do, several times.

I see his house, it's in front of me now. Just one more street to cross…Suddenly I trip, quite possible over mid-air, and sprawl flat on my face on the street. I don't even realize the pathetically large danger I'm in, lying, my ankle probably broken, in the middle of the street. My mind is foggy and only one thing is clear, I remember only one thing; Dean is my boyfriend, who I love very much, who loves me very much, who I just yelled at and gravely insulted.

I don't even have the perseverance to get up from my pathetic position. I just lie there, my mind whirling. _Safe, Babette, losing my mind, head hurts, Tristan, said yes to a date with that creep, yelled at Dean, thought he was a stranger, losing my mind, love Dean, Dean's hurting inside the way I am, I should really get up, I hear a car, will I die here, on a street, inches from Dean's house, would be fitting, I'm pathetic, why does anyone like me, why does Dean like me, he shouldn't, I'm pathetic._

"_Rory!_" The voice is one I faintly recognize, that only pierces my dream bubble slightly and then bounces off like a ball hitting a rock wall. I am a rock wall. _Rory, Rory, Rory, Rory! My name, Rory, Dean, car…_

And the next thing I know I'm lying on top of a breathing, living, heaving body sprawled on the sidewalk outside Dean's house, and the thing is panting. I'm still in the bubble, oblivious to nearly everything around me, but I do realize that I'm outside Dean's house. Slowly, grimacing, I lift myself up and attempt to crawl to his door, my head aching, my side cramped and my left ankle twisted in an unnatural position. _Dean, sorry…_

"Rory, you idiot, what do you think you're doing?" that familiar voice groans in pain. "You were almost hit by a car and would have been dead if I hadn't jumped in and dragged you onto the side-walk. Your ankle is obviously broken but now you're trying to crawl like a two year-old learning to walk to that door-" The voice stops talking abruptly. 'That door,' I can hear him thinking. 'That door is…'

"So you didn't mean it after all. You still love him. Love him so much you would drag yourself to his door even with a broken ankle," Tristan observes bitterly, resent in his voice. "Would drag yourself to his door even after I just dragged you off the street. You would do anything for him, wouldn't you?"

The bubble is popped and Tristan's voice is the pin that did it. I collapse in a heap on _his _lawn and bury my head under my arm like a bird to hide my tears, but I'm sure Tristan hears my sobbing. "I said…I told him…I told him he wasn't my boyfriend! I told him to go away! I thought he was a stranger, I though he was stalking me, but he's Dean! Dean! I acted so…towards Dean! Oh, Tristan…" I'm sobbing and my body is shaking, the pain of my broken ankle forgotten.

And then his arms are around me and I dissolve utterly, letting my head rest on his shoulder, sobbing pitifully and losing my mind. "It's all falling apart, and I don't even know how! How could I not recognize my own boyfriend? How could I say such things to him?" I'm so miserable I don't even remember where I am and who I'm with. "And how," I add, still sniffling and my tears still flowing, "How could I accept to go out with Tristan? Something is very, very wrong." In my sub-conscious I feel him stiffen slightly as I add in the last part, but soon he's comforting me again.

Eventually my sobs subside and I'm left in Tristan's arms, my ankle broken, outside Dean's house, and completely confused. I quickly dry my flowing tears on my coat's sleeve and then pull away from Tristan as I finally realize the awkwardness of the situation. "Tristan," I whisper, aghast. "I…"

His cheeks are red. He's…he's blushing? "Rory, I know that was way too fast and way too close. But you were crying and I…"

The tears are flowing again but now my mouth is pulled up into a faint, grateful smile. "No, thanks. I know it must have been really awkward, and we're outside of…_his_ house, but thank you."

And suddenly he seems happy too. "So, dinner tonight?" he asks, grinning and suddenly jovial again. "I was coming to pick you up when you…we…" he grins in a helpless sort of way, implying a, 'hey, you know.'

Suddenly I'm the awkward one again. "No, Tristan," I whisper, staring at the cement underneath me and picking at my shoe-lace. "I was…when I said I would…something was wrong." My voice is a hoarse whisper and when I look up I'm searching for forgiveness in his eyes. But there is none. Suddenly they're hard and reserved again, and he's looking at me with something equaling disgust.

"Ah, I see," he says, dryly. "'I'd have to be stupid to think that, given our history, you would ever, barring a piano or a safe falling on your head, wanna go anywhere with me, ever.' Right? I forgot that little detail."

I blush deeply and almost regret my earlier, stinging words. "Tristan I…" and then my eyes light up. "Wait! A safe…it happened! A safe fell on my head and I agreed to go out to dinner with you!" I'm grinning like a fool and a laugh escapes my lips. "Oh, that is rich!"

He doesn't seem to understand the humor in the situation. I suppose for him there is none. "So a safe fell on your head and you're saying that's the only reason you accepted when I asked you out. And now you're all normal again and your sane mind tells you I'm a jerk, albeit a jerk who just saved your life, and you would never ever, in your sane mind, agree to go out with me. Is that it?"

My eyes harden now as well. "Tristan, I would never go out with someone I didn't like just because they saved my life. I thank you very much for it, but it doesn't mean that by dangling that fact in front of my face you can make me feel guilty and obliged to go out with you. I won't go out with you _because you saved my life_. The day that I find anything close to like in my heart toward you, I'll tell you. That day I'll accept your offer. But even if now, crossing the street, you saved my life again and subtly made me feel guilty about it so I'd accept your offer to dinner, which is probably based on a bet, then I don't think I ever will. I will never go out with someone through guilt. That would be wrong and imply feelings that don't exist and are being forced through expectations."

He looks down briefly and when he looks back up he's gazing toward my left ankle. "You'll need help getting home," he mutters. I nod my head curtly and slowly he helps me stand, starting the process of walking home. As we cross the street where I had my near-death experience, I shoot one last glance at Dean's house. And I can swear that I see him sitting there, in his living room, playing chess with a petite girl with long hair and laughing. _Dean._


	5. Romeos, Juliets and Rosalines

Losing My Mind

**A/N: **So I kept my promise and put this chapter up within the self-set two-week deadline! Ta-da! Told you I could do it. Anyway, this chapter will be longer than most and contain more action. Oh, and I changed Emily to Emma, because I realized there was already an Emily on the show. Now, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado I present to you…drum-roll the fifth chapter of the critically acclaimed 'Losing My Mind'!

-&-

"You'd better go, Tristan," I say, quietly, my head hanging as though I'm already facing my mother, already acting the part of the ashamed daughter. "It would make things simpler, you know? But thanks. Thanks for everything. For saving my life and for helping me home." I look up briefly and smile a weak, though – I hope – encouraging smile at Tristan, who's standing behind me looking out of place and awkward. You can imagine the picture we make: me standing before the door, getting ready to ring the doorbell, my left leg poised behind my right as though I dragged it all the way here. Tristan, standing a few steps behind me, looking down at his white sneakers, his hands in his baggy jean pockets and his gaze periodically flitting towards me to see if I'm still OK.

"Oh, yeah," he mutters hurriedly, turning to leave. But as he makes his way down the stairs, a pang goes through my heart and something feels terribly wrong. I told him I would go to dinner with him, he showed up to pick me up, found me lying on a street, saved me from being run over by a car, accepted my refusal, watched me trying to speak to my boyfriend even though I had a broken ankle and had to drag myself to his door, and then helped me all the way home only to be turned around. The pang comes again as I muse the whole scenario, but harder this time, and more urgent, as he's at the bottom of the stairs and almost at his fancy sports car.

My eyes start to fill with tears of frustration; why is everything so complicated? What should I do? Call him back and say…what? What should I say? Or should I let him simply walk away like that, dejected and upset? Should I simply ruin his day and then suppose that my pathetic 'thanks' bridges the gap between us and makes everything OK? Why is everything in life always so. Damn. Complicated?

But I make my decision, although I still don't know what I should say. "Tristan!" I call, nervously. "Tristan…I…just wanted to-"

The door flies open and I find myself in someone's arms for the second time that day, completely enveloped and not able to do anything, shocked as I am. "_Rory! _Oh, Rory, you're OK! I thought…I called…_Rory!_" Sobs choke my mother's voice as she lets go of me and pushes me back a little, scanning me for injury as I start to get my bearings back and attempt to turn around, see if Tristan is still there. _Tristan, wait, there's something I want to tell you! There's something I need to tell you! _And I don't even know what.

"Mom…Mom, I-"

"Oh, Jeepers Crow, I called the police, Rory! _I called the Stars Hollow police and told them to look for you and the whole town is looking for you, Rory!_"_ Stars Hollow has its own police station?_ Lorelai lets out a nervous, weak laugh and I can see her body shaking, I can see for the first time now how white she is and how scared she must have been. "Thirty minutes that seemed like an eternity, Rory! And the police are looking for you…they called and they said that one of them saw you running across a street and tried to stop you but you were in another world, or something, and you didn't listen, and then you almost got hit…_Rory._"

Tristan is forgotten, everything is forgotten, because it doesn't matter. Slowly, gently, I lead my mother into the living room and I set her down on a couch, trying to disguise my broken ankle as I do it, though it's throbbing horribly and I know I should be at the hospital. "I'm OK, mom, see? I'm fine. You're worse off than I am. I'm OK, calm down, it's alright." I try to make my voice as soothing as possible as I lean over her and give her a hug, making sure she doesn't see my ankle.

"And I called Queen Gilmore, and she yelled at me about how I'm a terrible parent, and she's right! She's right, Rory! All I could do was shake and call people and run up and down the street and wait for you and be worried and god, Rory, where were you, how could you do this to me, why did you just run away like that? You knew what it would be like for me! I was so worried and I thought I was going to have a heart attack when the policeman said you were almost hit and I was _just… so… worried!_"

"It's OK, really, I'm fine! I just needed to-"

"_RORY! Your ankle is broken! I need to take you to the hospital, NOW!_"

"No, really, mom, I just need to have it bound up and it'll heal itself, it's-"

"_It is not OK!_ Your ankle is broken and you are going to the hospital, _now_, _young lady!_ And I mean it!"

(…)

It's the next day and my ankle is sweating inside a sort of plastic and cloth boot thing that makes sure it has the space and time to heal and doesn't get hurt or hurt me anymore than it already has. The doctor said I didn't have to have crutches if I didn't want to, because the boot is big and padded enough for me to walk on and not have throbs of pain shoot through my ankle every time I put pressure on my foot. Lorelai is finally calm, but she's still a little upset with me and warns that if I come back from school with anything else broken or she gets any other reports of my 'oddball-behavior', she's not letting me out of her sight for a year. Ouch. And on top of that, every single person in Stars Hollow, even those few that I don't know, have stopped me on the way to school and started lengthy conversations or simply inquired about my well-being, then exclaimed over the boot. Bad start to what looks to be a bad day.

School ends, the whole day going by with me avoiding Tristan and him avoiding me. Paris and Louise and Madeline, after exclaiming over my stupid ankle, see that something's wrong and leave me alone. "Uh, yeah, I um…I slipped," I say to whoever asks. And they know. Or at least they sense it. They know something is amiss so they shut up real fast. And pretty soon everyone's avoiding _me _and not the other way around.

After school I know what I have to do. Slowly but steadily I make my way to Dean's house after leaving my backpack in my room and changing into the fancy clothes I wanted to wear for Tristan. Now I want to wear them for Dean, which is the right thing to do anyway, something I should have done all along.

When I tell mom that I have to go somewhere and she probes a little further – which is totally understandable – I sigh then tell her. "Dean's. I'm going to see Dean, mom." And she remembers what happened when she mentioned him yesterday and looks at me quizzically.

"Oh, Rory, did you two break up?" she asks once again in her motherly voice, putting a hand on my arm after an awkward pause. She smiles as though she knows all.

"Something like that," I inform her after thinking for a while, feeling bad about not telling her the whole truth. But then I run the story through my head and don't feel so bad anymore…_Oh, see, what happened is that Babette accidentally dropped a safe on my head and something went loopy inside the old noodle and I haven't been the same ever since. And therefore I thought Dean was a stalker or something so I yelled at him and told him he was creepy and I didn't like his hair, which probably didn't go down well. Then I was almost hit by a car except Tristan saved me. Did I mention that I went really, really loco, so I thought I liked Tristan? Crazy and _very _not Rory-ish, I know. So anyway Tristan saved me from dying, which is why I have this stupid, itchy cast _thing_ on my ankle in the first place – no, not from Tristan, from almost dying – and- what's that? Why did I run onto streets at full speed again? Oh, yeah, because I suddenly remembered I wasn't crazy but apparently I still was, because I almost died, and I wanted to go to Dean and tell him this story. I'm sure he'll forgive me as soon as I tell him the same thing I just told you. _Speaking of which, what am I planning on telling Dean, exactly?

"OK, well hon, what was it about?" Lorelai asks, breaking my reverie. "Because if it was about something dumb, like not being able to tell him you love him, I wouldn't worry about it. Oh, and if you'll take it I have a tip for you; sugar-coat everything around guys. They always take it when you do. Funny, it's the same with me; if you put lots and lots of sugar on a frog's liver and tell me it's a marshmallow, I'll gulp it down."

"Uh…thanks for that?" I offer, raising an eyebrow at Lorelai and trying not to laugh. She grins down at me, and then I remember the other part. "Oh, and breaking up over not being able to tell him 'I love you' isn't dumb, mom. It's a really important, critical part of a relationship. I mean, if I don't love him then why am I going out with him in the first place?" I slip my arms through my coat-sleeves lithely and quickly before she gets the chance to say something else and detain me even longer, then exit the house.

'If I don't love him then why am I going out with him in the first place?'

(…)

"Emma?" I interrupt her ramblings regretfully, because I delight in watching her talk. Everything about her – her voice, her face, her hands, her body – is so expressive. And her beautiful, red lips moving make me want to…

"Mhm?" she pauses her speech about the beauty of Shakespeare and his extreme genius and yet the flaws in the minds of modern-day people who 'think they understand Shakespeare' to listen to whatever dumb thing I have to say.

She looks so pretty, so perfect, sitting there with her dainty hands resting on her lap, grinning as though today, spent with me after I invited her over yesterday to talk about Shakespeare, is the best day of her life. "Are…" I gulp and my voice quivers. "Are we..." I can't do it. "You look beautiful today, Emma," I tell her with a weak grin. I can't do it! Why can't I ask this beautiful girl the question lingering on my mind: 'Are we boyfriend and girlfriend?'

"Thanks, you look very dashing," she compliments, grinning at me. "Anyway, like I was saying, I think Shakespeare is pure genius. Most people think Romeo and Juliet is meant to be a great but tragic love story, supposed to show how selfish feuds are and how pointless too. And I agree half-way with most of that, but I have another theory. I mean, Juliet was 14 years old and Romeo was…what? Well, much older, we know that. And he was previously 'madly in love' with a woman named Rosaline until he set eyes on Juliet, who he then proceeded to fall 'madly in love' with and forgot about Rosaline completely. So the point is that men are very pretentious, can't be trusted to love one woman for always like women do with men, don't even know their own feelings well, and don't hesitate to take advantage of pretty young girls. And in Hamlet, some people think that-"

"How do you know?" I blurt, my eyebrows knotted as I listen to Emma's accusations of Romeo.

She stops and looks at me in confusion. "How do I know what?" she asks, her pretty green eyes suspicious.

"How do you know that the truth isn't this: Romeo thought he loved Rosaline, but it was a mistake. He found the right one, the real one, 'his true love', in Juliet. How do you know that all men are unreliable? And how do you know that if they had both lived Romeo would have eventually cheated on Juliet by finding someone else he claimed to be 'madly in love with'? How do you know he hadn't, in truth, found the _real one _and didn't plan on loving any other girl, ever, in his lifetime?"

Emma's eyes are wide and her lips quiver. I finish my spur-of-the-moment, forceful speech and suddenly feel awkward. I wait for her to say something. She doesn't.

"Sorry." I attempt to laugh, loosen the tense atmosphere. "I guess I got a little carried away there, sticking up for Romeo." Another fake chuckle. "But if girls are always sticking up for their sex, why can't boys, right?" I smile at her. Still she remains exactly as she was when I finished my speech.

And then, finally, she speaks, her voice shaking slightly with emotion. "I don't know. And I guess I won't ever really know. But I'm willing to let someone prove me wrong."

I feel that same, strange feeling that coursed through my veins when I starting blabbing about Romeo now, except this time I know what it is. I know why I said all those things, I know the real meaning behind them.

And I know that it's right when our lips connect, and suddenly I'm kissing my Juliet.

(…)

I arrive at his doorstep and when I hear Dean's and a female's voice my racing, excitable mind jumps to the conclusion that he's talking to his mother, or Clara, or some other perfectly innocent female that he's related to. I test the door and it's unlocked, so I push it open and step inside, almost holding my breath in anticipation. What will I say? _Hi, Dean. Sorry if this is unexpected, but-_

_Now _that's _unexpected_.

"You're eating her face." In my shock, I let it slip out. Oops. The two detach themselves with looks of guilt on their faces, as though they've been caught in bed together and not just kissing, and turn to look at me.

"Mom, I just-"

And then he stops. Gasps. Gapes.

"Rory." It's stated as a fact, not a question or an exclamation.

"Sorry, who?" the petite blonde next to him asks, eyebrows knit.

"Rosaline," Dean murmurs. And the blonde understands.

But I sure as hell don't.

'If I don't love him then why am I going out with him in the first place?'

(…)

"Rosaline." There's my Rosaline, standing before me as beautiful as ever, even more beautiful than ever, as she's wearing clothes that only accentuate her sparkling, light blue eyes and her curves. She's obviously confused, which starts to give way to hurt as her mind assesses the situation.

"Dean." She says it the same way I had said her name. Dry. To the point. And a little hurt. Surprised. Confused. Numb. _What's happening?_

While she stands there, taking it all in, and I sit there, taking it all in, and Emma watches patiently and anxiously, I'm able to give my Rosaline a proper looking-over. She's beautiful, let's admit it. Her pants are bell-bottom, faded blue jeans that cling to her legs as though for dear life. She's wearing modest brown boots that aren't overdone at all. Her shirt is a deep crimson, setting off her hair and her eyes in comparison, and the sleeves are long and flow at the end. Her dark, mahogany hair is twisted up in a bun but a few strands hang down to her shoulders loosely, as though she simply, quickly slapped her hair into a bun without caring. But I know that girl-trick and it doesn't work on me. She cares very much. And she came to my house…

And suddenly she has that steady, determined look on her face that I know so well. That I once thought I loved with all my heart. "Dean…I just came here to say sorry for how I acted…before. Something serious happened and I was just…it's inexcusable. I just wanted to say sorry to you. And I won't lie; I came here hoping to say sorry, be forgiven, and be your…your girlfriend again. But I've been replaced. And I was an idiot, and a bitchy one at that, if I thought you would sit around moping, waiting for me to come running back to you with lame excuses. And I'm happy…I'm happy that you're not that kind of guy. But I already knew that. I knew from the start that you were too good for me Dean, but I dismissed it. I have to face it now. So, anyway, I'm happy…for you, as I already said."

I listen to her voice choke with tears as she says the last words and watch numbly as Rory, my Rosaline, runs out the door and down the street, hiding her tears. "Good-bye, Rosaline," I murmur, grief seeping into my heart. _She wasn't Rosaline, she was Rory! I love Rory! _But when I look over at Emma, sitting beside me and holding my hand for comfort, though I hadn't noticed it before, I know that Rory _was_ my Rosaline. Although, for someone out there, she is a Juliet.

"I bet that never happened to Romeo," I tell her with a watery smile. "He was too cool and slick for that." Emma smiles slightly at me, but doesn't say anything. She knows this is my moment, my moment to battle with the emotions inside me. And she has to wait and see what will come out of it. "What happened to Rosaline in the end, anyway?" I ask her after a pause.

Emma shrugs. "The last we hear of her she's at the ball where Romeo meets Juliet. But she doesn't interfere with the romance, because she never loved Romeo in the first place. He was madly in love with her but depressed because she rejected his advances."

"Oh," I say, lamely. "So Rosaline never really loved Romeo? Was he her Rosaline?"

Emma smiles gently. "In the play, no, Rosaline never loved Romeo."

"Oh." I pause, studying my fingernails. "But Romeo loved Juliet," I point out in a whisper.

"True."

"Is there a Romeo and a Juliet for everyone? And what about those people who think they have a Juliet but they really have a Rosaline?"

"That's why divorces happen."

"Oh. So is there a Romeo or Juliet for everyone?"

"I believe there is. Not everyone finds their Romeo or Juliet. But some lucky ones do."

"Do Rosalines get Romeos?"

"There is a Romeo for everyone, even Rosalines and Parises, but it depends if you find them or not."

"What's a Paris?"

"The male equivalent of a Rosaline."

"Oh." A pause. "I found my Juliet."

"I found my Romeo. I think. Please don't turn out to be a Paris."

A laugh. And then serious again. "I hope my Rosaline finds her Romeo."

"Me too."


End file.
